Door clicks shut downstairs. Marie’s car rumbles away. Silence hits hard. Parquet creaks under my stool. Emma’s eyes lock on mine, dark with hunger. Her skirt still hiked, panties tangled mid-thigh. That plump ass juts out, pussy glistening. Filthy invitation.
I kneel fast. Heart hammers. Light filters through half-closed blinds, stripes her pale skin. Her scent hits—musky, ripe. Fingers hook the cotton. Slide it down. Her cheeks part. Pink slit winks, slick strings stretch. Anus puckers. I lean in. Tongue flicks her folds. She gasps. Sharp inhale. ‘Shh,’ I whisper. Vacuum’s gone, but neighbors’ walls are thin.
The Contact
She pushes back. Grinds on my face. Juices smear my chin. Salty-sweet flood. I lap deeper, tongue-fuck her hole. Clit throbs under my thumb. Her thighs quake. Muffled moan escapes. ‘Quiet,’ I hiss. Bed creaks as she grips sheets. Parquet groans. Any second, Marie could return. Or a neighbor glance up, see shadows move.
My cock strains, leaks pre-cum in pants. I stand. Zipper rasps—too loud. Whip it out. Thick, veiny. Slap her ass. Reddened globes jiggle. She arches. ‘Fuck me,’ she breathes. No condom. Raw need. I notch at her entrance. Wet heat sucks me in. Inch by inch. Balls-deep. Her walls clench. Tight, velvet vice.
Thrust slow. Bedframe taps wall. Thump-thump. Muffled. Pray it’s quiet. Sweat beads. Her breath hitches. Nails dig my thighs. Faster now. Slaps echo soft. Pussy squelches. Soaked. ‘Gonna cum,’ she whimpers. I clamp hand over mouth. Pound harder. Balls tighten. Heat builds. Risk electrifies—door ajar, stairs creak possible.
The Indiscretion
She bucks. Cums hard. Muffled scream into palm. Juices gush. I follow. Pump ropes deep. Fill her. Sticky heat. Pull out. Cum dribbles down thigh. She slumps. Panting.
Wipe quick. Pants up. She tugs panties, skirt down. Face flushed. Mirror shows my guilt-streaked grin. Footsteps outside? No. Just wind.
Marie returns too soon. Keys jangle. ‘Progress?’ she calls up. We nod. Voices steady. Emma’s glare promises more.
I leave. Stairs groan under boots. Cross hall. Neighbor’s door cracks—old Mrs. what’s-her-name peeks. ‘Evening.’ Heart skips. Did she hear? Smell sex on me? Slip home. Door shuts soft. Lean against it. Cock twitches at memory. Secret burns. Neighborhood sleeps oblivious. Our filthy game just starts.